


Predator

by JustClem



Series: Buzz [1]
Category: RWBY
Genre: 2nd person POV, Bumblebee - Freeform, F/F, POV Second Person, Romance, Sexual Tension, Training, bedroom eyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 00:05:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19261903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustClem/pseuds/JustClem
Summary: "Who would've thought you, of all people, would be the type to skip class?""Yeah," she says, a lilt in her voice, like singing a lullaby. "Who would've thought?"~Blake Belladonna is an enigma, and you love unraveling enigmas.





	Predator

**Author's Note:**

> Reading it again now, I realised just how different this is from my other stories. And it's not just the sexual tension, it's the poetic way I wrote it too!
> 
> Man.
> 
> 2nd Person POVs AND Present tenses does this to you, huh?

Your body is caked with hot sweat. Your shoulders sag down, as though your arms are leads. You feel more than you see your faint yellow, sizzling aura, smoking up in floral patterns.

This, you decide, was a good workout.

Every muscle, nerve, bone vibrate and ache, and even when your body begs for you to sprawl yourself onto the nearest bed - or any flat, comfy surface, really - and shut down. You stand, favouring one foot more than the other, inhaling oxygen as though it can run out at any second, but proud.

You see the mayhem before you.

What used to be human-like machines designed for Huntress and Huntsmen practise are now broken bits and pieces, sprawled out across the grid-tiled gray floor. Joints and metal and plastic-like materials joined and scattered in all the wrong ways.

No matter how badly your lungs protest, you make sure each inhale and exhale are deep and controlled.

You check body, wincing at how badly you're sweating. Luckily, you don't support any serious injuries, and the mild injuries that you have - cuts and bruises - are already healing, courtesy of Aura. Though, your yellow tank-top sticks to your skin, and it makes you feel gross, like you've taken a shower with hot lemon water instead of actual one.

In one swift movement, your tank-top is down on the ground, useless, and your red bra flashes, a shade lighter from matching your red eyes.

You know no one will see you, and even if they do, you're probably going to pull off the ol' Xiao-Long charm and Xiao-Long yourself out of the awkward, strippy situation. You don't hear any footsteps, and you're sure you closed the door of Beacon's training grounds before you train, so it's safe to say you're alone.

"I'm impressed."

Except, of course you're not alone, because recently there's been an enigma in your life that overshadows all of your other enigmas.

You turn and see too much beauty for your bimbo of a mind to comprehend; those haunting golden eyes, that cherry-red lips and the enticing way they curl up in a smile that's not really a smile, and a body more befitting of agile, swift attacks, unlike your own brawler, reckless, blind ones.

You gulp, momentarily stricken by her appearance, almost afraid of how well she'd hidden her presence, if she were trying to hide it at all.

You smile the charming Xiao-Long smile, which would've been effective if not for the slimy sweat and limpy, loose hair and the exhaustion of destroying machines for two hours with no break.

She doesn't seem to mind that you're not at your best.

It takes you a moment to reply due to you having to gather your breath first. "What? My rockin' bod or-" you gesture to what you've created, or rather, what you've destroyed "-this?"

Her lips curl up more, the edges of her eyes gaining a light crinkle. You're not sure if she's entertained, and you try to act casual, for your sake more than hers, bending down to reach your tank-top, letting out a dumb-sounding "ummm" when it's not wearable anymore.

"Here."

You look up, and on instinct, your hand catches what she throws at you. It's a towel. "Thanks," you say, your voice lacking the confidence power it has, echoing throughout the large room, making it sound bigger and broader than it really is, making you feel small.

You busy yourself by wiping away the dirtiness that comes with sweat. From your face, to your neck, gliding across each arms, and even the lower part of your legs not covered by your shorts.

You feel her eyes on you. Predatory, thinking a million thoughts, unnerving, enchanting.

You try not to let them enchant you.

"Not that I don't appreciate it and all, but why are you here? Don't you have classes?"

"Don't _you_ have classes?" she shoots back, walking to one of the benches, picking what appears to be a water bottle. How long has she been here?

"Fair." You shrug, and grin a teasing, crooked grin. "Still, though, who would've thought you, of all people, would be the type to skip class?"

"Yeah," she says, a lilt in her voice, like singing a lullaby. "Who would've thought?"

This is when the questions roll in.

Who is she? What does she want? Where did she come from? Why did she choose you as her partner?

And why does she keep looking at you like that?

Her stare. You're drawn to it and you're not sure why or want to understand why. She sees you in a way no one has ever seen you before. And you're practically naked, exposed.

You're no idiot. No matter how much you wish to, you can't deny your need to touch her, kiss her, and claim her as yours.

And maybe, with the way she's looking at you, the feeling is mutual.

Hurry, your lust urges as you keep staring at her, small droplets of sweat drizzling lazily down your hair, ask her out! Do it, now!

"Hey, Blake?"

She makes a questioning "hmm?" sound.

You're brave.

It's true.

People seem to mistake bravery as fearless.

You're not without fears.

"Nevermind."

This is when you find that you can be relieved and disappointed at once.

She turns to leave after staring at you for far longer. Her eyes exploring every inch of your skin, as though they are touching it.

There's an air of disappointment, almost like Aura, only it envelops the room.

You wonder if it stems from you or…

No.

You want her, and not the distance blocking you from her called 'friendship' or 'partnership' or whatever!

Wordlessly, you run after her, body still aching and wanting sleep, and she looks at you only when you stop, arms extended, heaving, openly displaying your desire.

She looks at you, and you stop breathing.

She's caught you.

She, a predator, has led its prey to a trap. A confusing, intricate, beautiful trap that tangles you.

She's a predator. She's no one's and answers only to herself.

She's not yours.

But, as she kisses you and pushes you against the wall and fuses your two bodies together, you might be hers.

Not that you mind.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you wish to get ridiculously early access to these one-shots, then go check out: P a treon . com (slash) ClementineDavidson, where I will immediately post my works right after I've finished them.


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